


Welcome to Britannia

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [27]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Flogging, M/M, Master/Slave, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: 2770 ab urbe condita (from the founding of the city of Rome). The Roman Empire is flourishing...Ven and his master have made it to Britannia, but it isn't all happy families...





	Welcome to Britannia

It was sunny when they landed. It was sunny as Ven followed his master through the airport, only glancing every now and then at the signs he was following, to the Arrivals area. It was still sunny when the master's checked-in bag did not come around on the carousel. 

Whether it was sunny or not when they got to the Lost Luggage office, Ven couldn't say; there were no windows here and everything was lit by stark white strip-lighting. There was a tube flickering nearby and Ven tried to ignore it as his master filled out a form for the lost suitcase.

He startled to realise that his master had said his name twice already and was growing impatient. “Master? I'm sorry, Master.”

“If I were you, I'd tie him to the post behind you there and give him half-a-dozen lashes, remind him to pay attention,” the clerk said to his master, obviously anticipating the spectacle.

“I will take that under advisement,” Master said shortly. “Boy, describe the suitcase to the citizen here.”

Ven lowered his eyes and gave as full a description as he could, including the coloured strap with his master's name woven into it that was strapped around the case, and stepped back, his eyes still lowered.

“We'll do our best to locate it and send it on to your hotel,” the clerk told Ven's master briskly, doing his best to hide his disappointment at not seeing Ven whipped.

“Thank you. Come along, pet.” Master stepped away from the window and snapped his fingers at Ven, who gave a silent sigh and fell in three paces behind him, to head to the Customs desk. At least, Ven thought, they'd come in on a domestic flight – there was quite a queue for those who'd arrived from outside the Empire (why anyone from outside the Empire would come to Britannia rather than Italia, or Gaul, or even Iberia, was a complete mystery to Ven!)

The next port of call was to the car-hire desk, and then to Londinium Airport's branch of ExLibris (which had a Phallusy outlet right next door, to Ven's amusement) to purchase a road atlas for Britannia, even though Ven was almost certain that the car-hire clerk had mentioned the car having a sat-nav system. He was less amused when his master came out of ExLibris with a bag and went straight into the Phallusy store, emerging a few minutes later carrying one of their bags too, giving both to Ven.

Three carrier bags and a small suitcase was definitely easier to manage than three carrier bags, one small suitcase and one large one, in Ven's opinion. He tried not to think what would happen if Master's other suitcase turned up half-way through their stay – he would probably have to buy a couple more tunics as it was, and how Ven was going to get those into an already rather full case for their return trip, he couldn't think!

There were no more incidents of any description between leaving the airport and arriving at the hotel, though it was much colder than Ven was used to, even if it was sunny. The hotel itself was outside the town proper, because Rome wasn't the only place that didn't permit private vehicles inside during the day, and the majority of hotel guests also had cars. There was a tram stop outside, which made Ven pause in unloading the car. 

“Londinium's built according to the grid pattern, it allows for public transport other than rickshaws and litters – you'll find the roads are wider than those back home,” his master explained, noticing Ven's hesitation. “Rome remains much as it did during the days of the first emperors. Towns that were set out later were laid out specifically with wider roads, most of them on the grid pattern.”

Ven nodded; he was used to the grid layout for towns; his first master's villa had been not so far from Paestum, and though that had originally been laid out by the Greeks, the Romans had adopted the same idea of the grid for their own towns, such as Pompeii and Herculaneum (the former of which had been rebuilt, further from the slopes of Vesuvius, several centuries later).

Still, the idea of actual vehicles in a town in broad daylight was one of the strangest things Ven had heard of, and he kept glancing back, even as the tram moved off. 

“Stop gawping like a provincial on his first visit to the Eternal City; you've seen enough of the rest of the Empire on the news that it shouldn't come as such a shock to you.”

“The television doesn't really show the reality, though, Master,” Ven pointed out, turning his attention back to his master with the firm reminder to himself that his master was here for a conference and would be highly unlikely to leave his slave in the hotel room for the entire duration of said conference, having paid for said slave to accompany him all the way here from Rome. He would surely have an opportunity to see Londinium up close and personal, so to speak.

“I did not ask for a comment or a reply,” his master informed him sternly, and Ven dropped his eyes. 

“No, Master. I'm sorry, Master.”

“If I need to begin gagging you again to remind you of your place, do not think for an instant that I won't, is that clear?”

Ven swallowed. “Perfectly, Master.”

His master let him into the room, instructed him to unpack, then strip and bend over the bed to wait for him; in the meantime, he was going to be in the bar.

The room was a large one, carpeted from wall to wall (which Ven found a little odd). There was a large bed for the master and a smaller cot in one corner for him. He tried not to roll his eyes at seeing that the covers on the cot were a drab boring grey; he had apparently grown used to the colourful cotton bedspreads all the slaves had on their beds back at home. Cheap, perhaps, but they cheered the dormitory up – although it wasn't as if any of the slaves spent much of their waking time in there.

He set the case on the cot to begin unpacking – not that there was much in the way of 'unpacking' considering it was an overnight case with emergency clothing only. His master's clean tunic and pallium were hung up in the wardrobe, his underwear put into a drawer, his own tunic was folded and laid in another drawer. The camera and his master's laptop were set on the desk and the wires and phone charger tucked into the desk drawer. His own tablet was set on the stool by the cot that constituted his own bedside table. His make-up case went on the vanity in the bathroom, and his master's wash-bag likewise. His master's neatly-folded sleep tunic was placed on the bed by the pillow.

He took a look at the cot, sighed, and slipped the cushion his master had bought under the pillow; he was used to a thin pillow, but this one was practically flat. The carrier bags he set on his master's bed, along with the restraints he had been told to include in the carry-on case, and the empty case was tucked into the closet out of the way.

He looked around the room, making sure everything was neat and tidy, and undressed, laying his clothing on the cot that was obviously for his use. The master's bed was a high one; he could lay his chest flat on the bed with his feet flat on the floor; there was a footstool for his master to use when getting in or out of bed. He clasped his hands in the small of his back and waited.

He did not know how long it was before the door opened and he stiffened, but did not make to rise. There was the rustle of a plastic bag in front of him but he was not about to lift his head. He gave a slight shudder as a flogger was laid on his back; it was one of the soft leather ones Phallusy sold, harsher than the soft suede ones, but lighter than the heavy leather. With enough strokes laid down in the right place, it could be a very effective tool for punishment, and Ven had little doubt that was how his master intended to employ it.

There was a pause, footsteps – muffled by the carpet. The sound of a lot of heavy cloth being dropped – probably master's toga. The bathroom door opened and closed, running water, the door opening and closing again and Ven nearly startled when his master laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I can only assume that it is sheer excitement at seeing a new place that has made you forget yourself,” his master said. “You will behave yourself here as you do at home; you do not want people to think that a slave in Rome is somehow less able to conduct himself in society than their own slaves. You were not paying attention in the airport, and you answered back when we arrived here. That is unacceptable behaviour, I expect better from you. I cannot punish your bottom for a while, but that does not mean I cannot discipline you at all.”

He repositioned Ven's hands above his head, and removed the flogger from where it was resting on Ven's back. 

“You will not ignore me, and you will not answer me back, boy. What do you have to say?”

“I... I'm sorry, Master. I won't do it again, Master!”

“No, you won't.” 

The first stroke of the flogger was harsh across Ven's shoulders and he nearly jerked upright; fisting his hands in the covers to try to keep himself in position. 

“One – thank you Master. May I have another?”

The second stroke was a little lower but just as hard. 

“Two, thank you Master – may I have another?”

The strokes kept coming, with barely enough time between them for Ven to count, and he was sobbing by the time the count reached twenty-five. Sobbing and begging, between each count.

“Twenty-six, thank you Master. I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry, may I have another, I'm sorry, twenty-seven thank you, I'm sorry, master... please... please... I'm sorry, may I... may I have another...”

The count stopped at thirty but Ven's sobs continued, along with his pleas. His upper back was red; his master had not let a single stroke land on his lower back, protecting Ven's kidneys.

“Go and stand in the corner there,” he told Ven after a few moments, during which the sobbing began to lessen as the realisation grew that there would be no more strikes. “Hands behind your head, face the corner.”

It was a moment before Ven could gather himself enough to obey. He gave a shudder as the flogger was draped across the back of his neck, the handle hanging down to his chest on one side and the numerous tails hanging down on the other.

“You will remain there for half an hour. Think about what you did, what the consequences have been and how your behaviour will improve in future,” his master told him, stepping back.

“Yes, Master.” The words were quiet, broken by a hiccup, and his master turned the television on to watch the news, occasionally looking up from the reporter talking about the latest excesses of Equalitas to admire Ven's back. It would have been his bum, of course, but that still bore the marks of the caning from the other day. There was plenty of time to spank that once those marks had faded – patience was a virtue. It was a very pretty bum and should be red more often than it was. An oversight that was easily corrected, of course.

Eventually the national news gave way to the provincial news and he changed the channel, muting it before getting up and crossing to his repentant slave. He removed the flogger, setting it on the desk. “You may put your hands down and face me,” he said.

Ven swallowed and obeyed, keeping his eyes down.

“Why were you punished?”

“I was not paying attention to you in the airport, Master, and then I did it again, and answered you back, once we reached the hotel, Master. I am sorry, please forgive me, Master.”

“Very well. Go and wash your face, then come back and join me. We will have room service tonight, I think, and find something interesting to watch.”

“Yes, Master. Thank you.”


End file.
